An Otaku's Guide
by that inflammable lorelei
Summary: An aspiring author (not me) writes a book and Piccolo is the research.
1. Default Chapter Title

BWA-hahahahaha! Special surprise for all those that read my stories at the now nonexistent (hooray!) fanfic.net! The Pluto Chronicles are being revised, recycled, and re-posted. This is the beginning of something new and wondrous... and hopefully funny, but I'll let ya'll be the judge of that! ^.~  
  
DragonballZ and Sailormoon don't belong to me, and I'm sick of making disclaimer jokes. So... just don't sue me, okay?  
  
centerAn Otaku's Guide/center  
  
Chapter One: The Teenyboppers  
  
bTeenybopper (n.)/b  
  
i"A teenager, usually female, who is always following the next fad or craze in clothes, music, etc. It is wise to avoid these creatures at all cost, for they can prove to be both dangerous and exasperating.  
  
"Teenyboppers come in many shapes and sizes, but the most common are the ones who latch themselves onto the local celebrity and won't let go. If you find one doing this to, for example, Ricky Martin, run for your life and don't look back to see the fallen. Out on the teeny battlefield, it's every otaku for his or herself."/i  
  
--uAn Otaku's Guide to Non-Anime Persons and Other Annoyances/u  
  
  
  
It was a fairly normal day in the Son household. The usual sounds: the grunt of Piccolo as he meditated, the snarf of Goku as he sneaked a doughnut while sparring with Vegeta, the occasional beep from Gohan's new Gameboy; old sounds, good sounds, familiar sounds. Sounds that had accompanied the group of friends ever since Bulma almost ran over Goku when he was six years old.  
  
Oh yes; and Vegeta's screaming. That was a little more recent.  
  
"Take ithis,/i Kakarott!" Vegeta panted, executing his Big Bang attack.  
  
Nimbly, Goku leaped out of the ki attack's way and landed onto the roof of Bulma's brand new car. "Vegeta, just admit it," Goku said, not unkindly, "You'll never defeat me. Why can't we spar iwithout/i an intent to kill?"  
  
"Never!" Another attack was aimed at the rooster-haired warrior. Goku easily dodged it; the car had no such luck.  
  
"Vegeta!" Bulma wailed, coming out with a lemonade pitcher. "This has gone too far! I don't have insurance on that car!"  
  
"Oh, shut your mouth, woman!" Vegeta was now running from Goku's kamehameha. He paused, then turned to face it, arms outstretched.  
  
"I mean it!" Bulma shouted over the din, "Maybe you two should take a bre-"  
  
Bulma was abruptly cut off as Vegeta blocked Goku's kamehameha in a flash of light. It whirled around and hit Bulma's new crystal pitcher, splattering lemonade all over her face. Throughout this she stood stock still in absolute boredom.  
  
She sighed. "I guess not."  
  
Meanwhile, Gohan was whispering encouraging comments to his Gameboy, his fingers moving rapidly between the A and B buttons. Piccolo opened one eye and said, "Gohan, will you shut that racket off?"  
  
Gohan didn't answer.  
  
Louder, "Shut that annoying jumble of notes off, will you?"  
  
Gohan glanced up momentarily, then immediately turned back to his Gameboy. Still playing, he said, "But Piccolo-san, I'm right in the middle of a battle with a dangerous Staryu!"  
  
"So?"  
  
"So, I can't my eyes off it for a second. If I left my Charmeleon's guard down, and reached all the way over to the little volume thing..." he shuddered. "I'll ilose./i"  
  
"So what?"  
  
"But then I'd have to start all over again! And then I could inever/i get my Charmeleon to evolve into a Charazard."  
  
Piccolo blinked. "Nani?"  
  
"Well, you see, Mr. Piccolo, this game's called Pokemon. What you have to do-"  
  
"No, I wasn't nani-ing at your stupid video game. I was nani-ing at that power rating."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Piccolo nodded toward a spot a few feet away. As they looked at it, a hole began to form in the air.  
  
Bulma came out with a new pitcher of lemonade. "What's going on?" she asked.  
  
"Hmm?" Vegeta looked up from his headlock on Goku. "What is it, green bean?"  
  
Piccolo said nothing except, "Look."  
  
Slowly, the hole expanded. Goku walked over curiously, asking, "Hey guys, what's going on? What's that hole doing there?"  
  
Vegeta sneered at Goku in contempt. "If we knew, do you think we'd just be standing here? Baka."  
  
Gohan hadn't gotten up. He was still sitting on the grass, playing his Pokemon game. Piccolo looked disgusted.  
  
"Look at that kid," he said, "I'm telling you, that game is evil."  
  
Chichi came out of the house, waved aside the fact that a tear in the space-time continuum was forming in her backyard, and said, "It is not! Gohan's just exercising his computer skills, aren't you, sweetie?"  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
Piccolo stopped in mid-snort -- which, might I add, is a peculiar sight -- as someone stepped out of the hole, to reveal...  
  
"A... a igirl?/i" Bulma stammered.  
  
The girl in question blinked her eyes, trying to get used to the sunlight. "Hello there," she said brightly. Three other girls stepped out of the hole.   
  
"Day so soon?" one asked.  
  
"I thought it was night," the third one said.  
  
"At a concert," the first put in.  
  
"A Backstreet Boys concert, to be precise," added the fourth.  
  
"Backstreet Boys?" Goku asked the girls. "What's that?"  
  
Vegeta eyed the girls warily. "I don't think I want to know."  
  
While the girls talked happily about the concert, more stepped out of the hole, all chatting in high, cheerful voices. The hole began to shrink.  
  
"What in the name of Kami is Ricky Martin?" Goku asked after trying to talk to one particularly frustrating girl. He received no answer.  
  
Piccolo, who had been silent and unnoticed through all the excitement, now said, "Whoever you are, get back to where you came from. The hole's shrinking."  
  
"What?" a girl (who to simplify matters we will call Number Thirteen) asked. "Who's there?"  
  
Still blinking from the sudden light, the girl looked at Piccolo. Her eyes widened and she began to gape.  
  
Dramatically, she called to the others, "It's... it's iHim./i"  
  
The other girls turned to react the same way.  
  
"I... I can't believe it..." Number Ten stammered. "It really is iHim.../i"  
  
The way the girls said iHim/i made you want to see the first letter in capitals, it being the right and proper thing to do, somehow.  
  
The girls all stared at the Namek with equal expressions of shock. Then suddenly Number Twenty recovered.  
  
"PICCOLO!" she cried, and ran toward him. Piccolo cringed.  
  
"N-nani? I --"  
  
Piccolo stopped in mid-sentence as a stampede of crazed female girls almost crushed Vegeta in an insane attempt to get to him. Bulma rushed over to the Saiyan prince and grabbed his arm. "Vegeta! Are you hurt?"  
  
Vegeta scowled. "Just my pride. Help me up, woman!"  
  
Piccolo now was running for his life around the Son's backyard, trying to shake off the teenage girls who apparently ate one too many tons of sugar for breakfast.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" Piccolo shouted over his shoulder.  
  
And the girls cried, "Oh, Piccolo! You're so handsome when you sweat! Don't be afraid: we LOVE you!"  
  
"WHAT?!"  
  
Piccolo screeched to a halt. He began to fly away, but Number Eight, a brunette who looks suspiciously like our author, grabbed his cape.  
  
"Get off of me NOW!" Piccolo shouted, but in vain. He tried to shake her off, and this triggered a fierce battle. It was a tug-of-war -- twenty teenyboppers (if you didn't know that's what they were) versus one very ruffled Namek.  
  
"Piccolo, what's wrong?"  
  
"We just want a souvenir!"  
  
"At this rate I'll have nothing left! Let go of my cloak, you idiots!"  
  
It continued like this for a while. Presently Bulma made a new batch of lemonade, and all of them, even Vegeta, settled down to watch the show. Bets were placed; Goku was positive Piccolo would make it, but Vegeta felt he underestimated the power of girls in fits of passion; look at Bulma. Whereupon Bulma shattered her second lemonade pitcher on Vegeta's head.  
  
It ended up as a tie. The group of teenyboppers gave Piccolo's cloak a hard tug just as Piccolo went into overdrive. His cloak tore in half, but he escaped. He settled down just above their reach, sitting Indian-style in midair.  
  
"Well, who won the bet?" Yamcha asked lazily.  
  
"Depends," Vegeta said. "Which end of the cloak is bigger, Piccolo's or the girls'?"  
  
"Hey!" Piccolo yelled. "In case you haven't noticed, iI'm/i the one with the problems at the moment. Will you chowderheads quit arguing over a few measly yen and help me over here?"  
  
"That's telling 'em, Piccolo-san," Gohan called, still sitting and playing his Gameboy.  
  
"Proper grammar, Gohan," Chichi warned. "We will use words in their full form, understand me? No slang talk from my son! Nuh-uh!"  
  
"Whaddya reckon 'nuh-uh' is, 'Kaasan?"  
  
"Don't talk back to your elders."  
  
"Well," said Piccolo in desperation, "If you won't stop sidetracking with your arguments, will you at least tell me what the hell just happened? Not that I want to bother your lovely conversations, of course. I was just a bit busy at the time."  
  
Vegeta favored Piccolo with the classic 'amused-and-evil' smirk. "Don't ask me. I figured a green bean like you would be single for ever."  
  
Piccolo now looked like he was about to kill somebody. "Nameks are isupposed/i to stay single! It's their ijob!/i Why-"  
  
He broke off abruptly as he observed with evident distaste that all twenty of the girls were in a free-for-all over who got to keep the other half of his cape.  
  
"Looks like you've got some admirers, buddy!" Goku called, winking.  
  
Piccolo made a mental note to kill Goku as soon as he had a chance.  
  
"But I don't iwant/i admirers! I'm a Namek! I'm asexual, for Kami's sake!"  
  
"Looks like you don't have much of a choice," Vegeta snickered. "I doubt they'll back down that easy."  
  
"Vegeta," Piccolo said coaxingly, "You've got a bigger ego than any of us. A group of admirers should feed it nicely. YOU take them.  
  
Vegeta looked... intrigued, but Bulma slapped him on the head. "Er," he said hastily, "One of these human females is about all I can take. Besides, it looks like it'll be more entertaining if I leave them to you."  
  
"Yamcha..." Piccolo said helplessly.  
  
Bulma said quickly, "Yamcha has a girlfriend already. Looks like he was able to replace me just fine. Of all the -- hey, I see you!"  
  
This last comment was directed to Yamcha, who, hearing a familiar trap being set, was wisely backing away.  
  
"Um," Yamcha said, "Mieko and I have a date planned, gotta run. Too bad about the girls, though." With that, he ran for his life.  
  
"Would you believe it!" Bulma exploded. "The coward!"  
  
"Quiet, woman."  
  
"No, Vegeta, I will not be quiet! I'm having a tough time here, if you all won't mind!"  
  
Piccolo stared at her. "No, we don't mind. You'd think she was the one who was being chased by twenty... ithings.../i"  
  
Number Twelve said helpfully, "My name's Ruth."  
  
"Oh, Ruth?" Piccolo scratched his head. "What a boring name."  
  
"Woman, I'm warning you... the High Prince..."  
  
"Wake up, Vegeta. Your stupid planet's gone. There is no more kingdom."  
  
Meanwhile, Gohan was doggedly working at his game. At the sound of a very well known and not really cherished argument, he lifted his head.  
  
"Hey, guys," he called. "Could you keep it down? I'm trying to -- hey, Piccolo-san, what are those girls doing to your cloak?"  
  
"Tearing it to pieces." Piccolo heaved an exasperated sigh that shut everyone up, at least for the moment. "Can someone tell me how those girls got here, and why they're in love with me?"  
  
Then Gohan asked a perfectly innocent question that caused the explosion. "All of them?" he inquired. "Well, which one are you going to marry?"  
  
At the sound of this, as I said before, perfectly innocent question, the teenyboppers looked up. They stood before Piccolo, a huddled group, looking at him expectantly.  
  
Piccolo turned pale. "I'm not gonna marry iany/i of 'em! They're all inuts!/i"  
  
Chichi clicked her tongue. "Proper grammar, proper grammar," she said to no one in particular.  
  
Gohan now asked a safer, yet equally innocent question. "Is that why they love you?"  
  
"Exactly," Bulma said, now a little more composed.  
  
"No one in their right minds would love Piccolo," said Chichi. "No offense."  
  
"None taken."  
  
"Hey, I resent that remark very strongly," said Number Five.  
  
"You," Piccolo said, standing at his full height of six feet and nine inches, still floating in midair, "Stay out of this."  
  
Number Five blushed and stared at him with shining eyes. Seeing "the look," he backed away several feet. Number Five giggled, waved, and ran back to the rest of the group, squealing quietly. Occasionally you heard snatches like, "He talked to me!" or "Can you believe it?" and "I've never seen him up close, he's so blasé, don't you think?"  
  
By now, not surprisingly, Piccolo gave up on talking sense with any of them.  
  
Bulma rubbed her temples. "We need to get to the bottom of this. I'll get a reading on that black hole."  
  
Vegeta settled himself underneath the car, which was now in the middle of a cherry tree. "I'm afraid you're going to have some trouble, girl. It's gone."  
  
Bulma shot him an annoyed look he didn't see, nor would care if he saw it. "I know that, you dolt. But my father's not the CEO and sole founder of Capsule Corp for nothing. His genius is hereditary, you know."  
  
"Then hurry up."  
  
She hurried up. Quicker than you can say, "hurt pride," Bulma had all the equipment out and ready.  
  
Goku curious poked something that looked like a sundial made out of toothpicks in neon colors. "Now what, Bulma?" he asked.  
  
Bulma rubbed her temples again distractedly. "I'll measure the area where the region of space-time occurred. Once I particularize the location of the ingress, I'll measure the capacity of the gateway, and descry where these ignoramuses originated."  
  
Goku, as can be expected, was hopelessly overwhelmed. "Which means...?"  
  
Eyes almost closed, Vegeta called, "A whole lot of bull."  
  
"Exactly what I was thinking," Number Five said, quite intent in her celebrity's conversation.  
  
Piccolo glared at her. "Shaddup."  
  
"Okay!"  
  
Piccolo mumbled something inaudible and probably improper. Goku looked very much like he was about to say something, but Vegeta drawled, "Don't even bother. She's impossible when she gets technical."  
  
"Don't worry, guys, keep heart," Bulma said cheerily. "I'll have you out of this in about ten minutes!"  
  
"Make it five." Vegeta grumbled. "Or ten seconds. Ten seconds would be great."  
  
The girls were now arguing over who was the prettiest. "Tell me, Kakarott."  
  
"Yeah, Vegeta?"  
  
"My woman excluded, is there anything inside your human female's brains besides..."  
  
Gohan, not looking up for a second, said, "Vanity."  
  
"Backstreet Boys," Goku suggested.  
  
"Me," Piccolo said, at his wit's end.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
Goku paused in deep thought. "Yes," he said finally. There's also..."  
  
Everyone leaned forward, Piccolo especially.  
  
"... Food."  
  
They fell over.  
  
"Cooking, to be exact."  
  
"Yes, that's all well and good," said Piccolo impatiently. "But how much longer will I have to fly?"  
  
"You know," a Voice said thoughtfully. "I almost regret it. Poor Piccolo."  
  
The teenyboppers squealed, Vegeta jumped and hit his head against the car, and Piccolo fell back on the ground. "Who's there?" All but Gohan called. "Nani?"  
  
Quietly, a head popped out of the car that was now in the cherry tree. "Hello," the girl said cheerily. "And no, I'm not one of ithem./i I say, I would be pretty unhappy if I was in their situation."  
  
Vegeta leaped from under the car to on top of it, and stared at the head. "Hey," he said loudly. "You're nothing more than a girl!"  
  
The girl frowned. " 'Nothing more' isn't the right way to put it." She stuck out her chin. "My name, by the way, is Setsuna."  
  
"Do we care?"  
  
Her frown deepened. "You aren't very friendly, are you? Well, I am in an especially good mood today, myself; I haven't left the Time Gate in ages..."  
  
Piccolo snapped to attention. "The what?"  
  
The girl, Setsuna, waved her hand impatiently. "The Time Gate, the Time Gate. The place I guard. But I'm on leave now to do some research for my book, you see. It's a very interesting book." She jumped off the car next to Piccolo. "But then, I don't suppose you'd like to hear about it."  
  
Piccolo blinked. "You're right, I don't."  
  
"Ah, well." she shrugged her shoulders. "No matter." She suddenly took out a small notebook, removed a pen from her green bun, and began to scribble.  
  
Piccolo peered over her shoulder curiously. "What's that?"  
  
"Nothing," Setsuna said hastily. "Nothing at all."  
  
Vegeta, however, was curious. He jumped from the car and grabbed the notebook from her hands.  
  
"Hey!" she yelled. "Give that back!"  
  
Coolly, Vegeta levitated until he was just out of her reach. He waved the notebook in the air. "What, this?" he asked. "You want this? I don't know, let's see what you want to hide so badly first."  
  
"No! Please!"  
  
Vegeta opened the notebook. His eyes widened. " 'The subject reacted with terror toward his admirers...' What in the little tailed Saiyan does that mean? Isn't this supposed to be a book?"  
  
Setsuna turned red. "It's an experiment. It'll be summarized so that layman can read it, but for now..."  
  
"Hey!" Vegeta said loudly. " 'The subject's admirers grabbed his cloak and tore it in half...' "  
  
They all slowly turned to Setsuna, who tried to put on the most innocent expression she could muster.  
  
"Hey, Setsuna," Piccolo said, stepping forward. "I get the feeling you know more than you're letting on."  
  
Setsuna backed away. "D-don't step any closer!" she said loudly, pulling out some sort of pen and waving it wildly. "I'm not afraid to use this!"  
  
Vegeta sneered. "We're not scared of pens. Let's move on, shall we?" he flipped a couple more pages threateningly.  
  
"That's enough!" she cried, holding up the pen. "Pluto planet power make up!"  
  
In a flash of light, there stood Setsuna... in the shortest skirt imaginable. "Evil beware! For I am the guardian of space and time, Sailor Pluto! Evil will tremble before..."  
  
She broke off when she realized that no one was paying attention to her. Instead, they were all crouched around her notebook, Vegeta reading aloud.  
  
"Hey! Pay attention!"  
  
Vegeta looked up. "Oh. You've changed," he said in mild interest. "Do all women change their clothes that fast?"  
  
Before she could answer, Vegeta collected energy in his palm. "You're the witness to my newest attack!" he yelled. "Crimson fireball!"  
  
With a roar, a huge jet of flame shot from his palms. Sailor Pluto deftly blocked it with her staff. It changed its course and destroyed Bulma's third lemonade pitcher.  
  
Bulma sighed. "This is inot/i my day."  
  
Piccolo let out a low groan. "I don't think it's anyone's day."  
  
Vegeta snickered, failure of his attack forgotten. "Besides the green-bean lovers."  
  
Sailor Pluto bowed politely, but at the same time creeping toward Vegeta. "Let me introduce myself."  
  
"But you just did," Goku said hesitantly. "Twice."  
  
Sailor Pluto shrugged. "Well, I will again. I am Sailor Pluto, guardian of space and time.  
  
"And Pluto, right miss?" Gohan put in.  
  
"Yes," Sailor Pluto said solemnly.  
  
Bulma frowned. "I thought you were Setsuna. I don't -- what are you iwearing?/i"  
  
Sailor Pluto looked down at her fuku. Bulma didn't know whether to be impressed or disgusted.  
  
Gohan squinted doubtfully. "Isn't it... kind of short?" he asked.  
  
Chichi walked over and pushed Gohan's head toward his Gameboy. "And tight?" she added.  
  
"Perfect for Master Roshi." Bulma put in.  
  
"Oh, Kami," Piccolo exclaimed. "Am I glad he didn't show up. I've got a feeling those poor girls in those ridiculous tank tops should be thankful, too."  
  
"I am sorry if I offend you," Sailor Pluto said, grabbing her notebook from Vegeta's hands. "This is my warrior uniform. It is mandatory to wear it."  
  
Vegeta snorted. "Warrior indeed," he muttered.  
  
Piccolo said, "Please explain why you are not Setsuna but Sailor Pluto, and why you are writing a book on this insane misadventure."  
  
Sailor Pluto stuck out her chin, dropping all cryptic dignity. "Because I can, that's why. It's all in my book."  
  
"What book?" Chichi inquired.  
  
"iAn Otaku's Guide to Non-Anime Persons and Other Annoyances./i I'm off leave from guarding until I finish it. With any luck, I'll write a sequel."  
  
"But why ime?/i"  
  
"Well, that wasn't my original goal..."  
  
"I suppose you caused the black hole that let in these dopes as well," Bulma said.  
  
The teenyboppers were now professing love to Piccolo through weird poems that they considered elegant and romantic.  
  
"Piccolo, Piccolo," Number Six cried, letting out a fake sob. "Why art thou a Namek? Why can't thee be... heterosexual?"  
  
Piccolo backed away. "Don't they iever/i give up?"  
  
"Yes," Sailor Pluto said.  
  
"Yes what?" Vegeta asked suspiciously.  
  
"Yes," Sailor Pluto said. "I caused the black hole. There was a convenient tear in the space-time continuum, you see. It led from itheir/i dimension," she nodded at the teenyboppers, "to ithis/i dimension. And, well, where they come from, Piccolo's a celebrity. In fact," she added, "he's the most wanted guy in all Japan."  
  
"What?!" Piccolo yelped in pure horror.  
  
Bulma suppressed a giggle. Barely. Vegeta flashed Piccolo a wicked grin.  
  
"But," Piccolo faltered. "I'm... I mean... I can't even... I..." he finally settled on a comment he could understand. "What?!"  
  
Sailor Pluto smiled. "You heard me. As your inability to love, it makes it even better. The media uses it to your advantage. The media knows its psychology, I'll give it that."  
  
"It may be impossible," Number Thirteen admitted. "But I'll make the impossible possible."  
  
Goku scratched his head and ate his doughnut to no avail. "How do you know all this?" he asked the sailored senshi.  
  
She smirked. "I am not called the guardian of space and time--"  
  
"And Pluto-" Gohan put in.  
  
"-And Pluto, sure, for nothing."  
  
"But..." Piccolo stammered. "How..." he let his words hang helplessly.  
  
"That's enough, human!" Vegeta said to Sailor Pluto. "I, for one, don't want to know."  
  
"Thank you," Piccolo said weakly.  
  
"Who's thanking me?" Vegeta demanded. "I just don't want to know the gruesome details as to why girls should find you remotely attractive."  
  
"He just... iis,/i" Number Nine said. "And don't insult my Piccolo!"  
  
Goku decided to take control. "All right, girls," he said to the teenyboppers. "Calm down. You don't want to get the Prince of Vegeta angry."  
  
Vegeta said, "Unless, of course, you want your body parts strewn across the globe." The teenyboppers cringed.  
  
"Sailor Pluto," Goku said. "Will you get rid of these..."  
  
"Mindless morons?" Vegeta finished.  
  
Sailor Pluto hesitated. "Can't they stay a little longer? I could use some more research."  
  
Piccolo picked at the shortened hem of his cloak. "Now would be better."  
  
"But Piccolo," Number Fourteen begged. "I've been waiting forever to see you!"  
  
"Then wait a little longer. Like forever."  
  
"Gee, you're not as nice as YM says you are."  
  
"What's YM? ... Never mind, don't answer that. Think of someone else to love. I'm trying to be nice."  
  
"It's too late," Fourteen said theatrically. "I'll always love you, Piccolo, no matter what you say or do." She tilted her head and screwed her eyes shut as if expecting to get hit.  
  
Piccolo blinked. "What the hell are you doing?"  
  
Number Seventeen, who had been watching the affair quietly, said in surprised tones, "That's the line in your movie."  
  
"Oh, I see -- wait a minute. My what?!"  
  
Scribbling madly, Sailor Pluto muttered, "The subject has been saying the same phrase a lot. 'My what' 'What?' 'What's going on...' "  
  
"Well, I still don't know what's going on!"  
  
"You're funny," Number Twenty giggled.  
  
The last of Piccolo's patience vanished. "Do you want me to kill you?"  
  
"B-but," Number Twenty stammered, surprised and nervous. "YM says-"  
  
"Forget YM!"  
  
Piccolo unleashed a massive Devil's Corkscrew. Poor Number Twenty's hairline got shortened by several inches. Sailor Pluto continued to scribble.  
  
"Aaaaieeeee!"  
  
Piccolo began powering up. "I don't even know what in the Little Green Namek a YM iis!/i I'm not the same Piccolo you know! Can't that penetrate through your thick skulls?"  
  
Goku followed the suit, ki level rising. "Piccolo!" he shouted over the din. "Calm down!"  
  
Vegeta threw back his head and laughed maniacally. "All iright/i!" he cackled. "Now this looks like fun! Scaring little teenage girls could be just what I've been missing!"  
  
Sailor Pluto pocketed the notebook and stuck her pencil in her bun. Trying to be heard over the terrified screams, she said, "Will everyone iplease calm down!/i"  
  
Unfortunately, no one was about to listen to her.  
  
The energy being released from all of the angry warriors began to form into air currents. From that, the air currents began to push against other air currents, causing many miniature tornadoes. Soon the whole group was engulfed in a whirlwind.  
  
Spinning around, the twenty girls desperately waved their arms, trying to swim in the air to avoid the pursuing Piccolo. Bulma, on her part, was desperately trying to reach her fourth lemonade pitcher. Goku, one the third hand, was trying to use his ki to fly through the wind so he could reach Piccolo before he killed someone. Chichi, on the fourth, was calling out for Gohan to get the heck out of there. Gohan, engulfed in the wind, was floating lazily upside down, still working on his Gameboy. And as for Vegeta...  
  
Vegeta was flying, oblivious of the tornado/hurricane, swooping low over the girls like an overgrown owl, hairline and all. The girls were screaming like there was no tomorrow and Vegeta was having the time of his life. Maniacal laughter was heard on both Vegeta and Piccolo's part. Piccolo began to look like he had a few screws loose.  
  
Goku crept behind Piccolo, who had just cornered Number Eight.  
  
"Think you can take my cloak, do you?" Piccolo said wickedly. "Look who's laughing now!"  
  
Number Eight blinked very quickly, and her eyes filled with tears. "You really hate me so much, Piccolo-san?" she whispered.  
  
Piccolo suddenly froze. "Uh, well," he stammered. "I don't ihate/i you, but-"  
  
"Oh, GOODY!" she exclaimed.  
  
Piccolo didn't know quite what to say, especially since he wanted to kill her. Goku used this to his advantage and quickly grabbed Piccolo.  
  
"Hey! Let me go!" Piccolo struggled admirably -- so admirably that Goku could barely hold him.  
  
Sailor Pluto was safely outside the carnage. The wind was dying down, so she could begin to see the forms. Gohan, hanging upside down in a tree, muttering something about Clefairy. Vegeta had two teenyboppers under each arm, floating precariously at the edge of the roof. Bulma sat dejectedly underneath the tree Gohan was residing in, fingering the remains of her fourth lemonade pitcher. Goku was on the ground, feet first, holding Piccolo in a tight grip, the latter struggling with all his might.  
  
Noting that Piccolo was going bonkers, Sailor Pluto decided enough was enough.  
  
"Dead... Scream!"  
  
But instead of the usual attack (as seen in certain subtitled movies -Ed.), a screeching emits that is just about equivalent to one thousand chalkboards being scraped simultaneously by one thousand hands - and each nail on each hand had been recently manicured.  
  
"Aaaaaieee! Stop!" they all cried, covering their ears. When she saw that girls were unharmed and everyone's potential power level had been lowered decisively, she stopped the mind melting noise.  
  
There was a moment of empty and fully appreciated silence.  
  
Rubbing his ears, Vegeta shot, "Next time you try that, Sailor Sap, I'll make sure you'll wish you've never been born."  
  
Sailor Pluto was about to answer when Piccolo yelled, "Sailor Pluto, quick! Book or not, get rid of these humans before they drive me insane!"  
  
"I think they already have," Goku said.  
  
Chichi, Bulma and Gohan nodded wisely. Chichi gave the tree Gohan hung from a massive kick. Gohan landed neatly on the ground, the rhythm of the Gameboy unbroken.  
  
Sailor Pluto checked her notes, gave a little nod, and waved her staff. The teenyboppers immediately disappeared. You could hear one call as if from very far away, "Wait... an autograph..."  
  
Vegeta nodded. "Very good. Now leave before I kill you."  
  
Sailor Pluto quirked him an un-awed grin and clutched at the middle of her bow. Suddenly she was back in her normal clothes.  
  
"Wow," Chichi and Bulma breathed.  
  
"Care to teach us that little trick?" Chichi asked hopefully.  
  
Setsuna shrugged. "It's just the way my uniform works," she said.  
  
Vegeta tapped his foot impatiently. "Well?" he demanded. "You've helped us. You can leave now."  
  
"Vegeta!" Bulma said, shocked. "You just admitted that you needed help!"  
  
Vegeta deadpanned. "What? It's not that... I mean..."  
  
Goku shot Vegeta another one of those friendly winks and said, "You old softie!"  
  
"Don't make me kill you, Kakarott."  
  
Sailor Pluto laughed a little nervously and put her hand behind her head. "Well... actually..."  
  
They looked at her inquisitively.  
  
"The fan girls were only the first chapter. I need to, er, experiment some more..."  
  
There was a muffled *thump* as everyone fell over.  
  
"Come on, it's not that bad!"  
  
Piccolo's eye glinted as he asked, "Oh, really?"  
  
Vegeta cracked his knuckles. "You will promise to stop these twisted experiments."  
  
"No! How else am I supposed to finish my book without experiments?"  
  
Piccolo joined Vegeta in the cracking knuckles game. "Well, I guess you won't finish your book, will you?"  
  
"What? And ruin all that work for nothing? Don't you know the only reason I get time off is because of that book?!" Setsuna glared. "I won't let you take my only chance of freedom away from me."  
  
Coolly, but shaking slightly, Setsuna marched up to Gohan, who didn't even look up.  
  
"What's up, Miss Pluto?" Gohan asked.  
  
Setsuna responded by grabbing Gohan's Gameboy and leaping away.  
  
"What? Hey, Miss Pluto, wait! My Charmeleon was gonna evolve!"  
  
Setsuna took a running jump and landed in the car in the cherry tree.  
  
"My Gameboy!" Gohan yelled, flying after her.  
  
Setsuna dangled the Gameboy at the edge of the car. "You want this? Come and get it."  
  
Gohan let out a yelp and lunged toward it, but it was too late; she had dropped it. With a sickening crack, the Gameboy landed on the ground. Gohan rushed after it.  
  
"Hey!" Goku said. "What'd you do that for?"  
  
Setsuna smirked slightly.  
  
Holding the now dead (in a manner of speaking) Gameboy in his hands, Gohan looked up at Setsuna with true hate in his eyes.  
  
"It shall be avenged!" he screamed.  
  
Piccolo winced. "I am neutral. I am Switzerland." he opened his eyes. "Oh damn."  
  
Gohan was glowing red as he began the temper tantrum thing. With a mighty roar, he launched an awe-inspiring ki attack at Setsuna. The latter laughed, and in a flash of light, both the car and herself vanished. The cherry tree was destroyed.  
  
Bulma sighed and turned to go back inside. "Well, that's the end of that."  
  
Vegeta snorted. "Like Saiyan it's the end of that. She'll be back, you can count on it."  
  
Chichi clucked over her son. "Oh, poor Gohan. We'll buy you a new Gameboy."  
  
"We will?" Goku asked, remembering the price.  
  
Chichi said firmly, "We will."  
  
Note: Piccolo swore that the next time he saw a teenybopper he was going to blast her to smithereens. Of course, those weren't his exact words. He said, "to kingdom come" instead of "smithereens". Vegeta and Goku were thankful to go down to the pub, have a stiff drink, and re-enter the wonderful world of middle age.  
  
iComing up next: Feminists/i  
  
"The Angry Feminists Division Gets... Angry" will be taken down, recycled, and republished as Chapter Two. If you would like to read the original (which will not be nearly as good) email me.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Geez, this is long. I mean long. I mean really, really... yeah. 

DragonballZ belongs to Toriyama-sensei. Sailormoon belongs to Takeuchi. I also have subtle hints regarding some of Patricia Wrede's characters. See if you can spot them. 

**Feminist (n.)**

_"A female woman who is against sexism and for women's rights. Though the spirit of this belief is all good and true, there are unfortunately a few Radicals that mess it all up. _

"When approaching a feminist, it is wise to use caution, especially if you are a male. If you are lucky you will find one who is not a Radical. If you are very lucky you will meet one who despises men but sees no reason why she can't talk with one, as long as he doesn't try anything stupid. But alas, true good feminists are very rare, so it is best not to hope for the nearly impossible. You can tell a Radical immediately by their choice of the topic of discussion. If you are a female they will try to convince you of the horrors of all males in general; a pair of earmuffs can easily solve this problem. If you are a male, treat the Radical like the African Rhino and climb up the nearest tree as high as you can." 

--An Otaku's Guide to Non-Anime Persons and Other Annoyances

She had been nervous. 

And who wouldn't be? Standing before the PTB, trying to explain why, when, and how she had -- to be perfectly frank -- fucked up. 

The PTB (Powers That Be) had not been thrilled when she reported her experiment had failed. Nor had they been thrilled when they found out they would have to pay the money for her crossing dimensions so many times. Dimensions generally did not like to be crossed, and so they often had high expenses. 

Now she was in the Council Room, with twenty-five Lords, one Steward, two Guards, and the Omnipotent himself. 

It was that dratted Namek's fault, she knew. If he hadn't been so uncooperative, she might have completed the experiment. Then she could have finished the first chapter, and have something in her weekly report. Involuntarily she clenched her fist. That cucumber was too much trouble as it was. And he was so powerful! If she crossed the line, she might wind up meeting her maker. Maybe... 

"Miss Meioh," a Second Lord said, breaking her out of her thoughts, "have you any idea *why* we gave you permission to write this book in the first place?" 

"That's what I have been wondering myself," a Fifth Lord put in. "Why did we?" 

"I supposed it was because it was a good idea," Setsuna said, tilting her head to the side. "Was I wrong?" 

The Second Lord looked ruffled. "I suppose not," he said. "But please let me remind you, Meioh Setsuna, that we did not expect your project to come to such a quick end." 

"It's not over yet," Setsuna said sharply. "I'm not finished yet. I've earned this. I have been at this job for" -- she peered at the pompous Steward, who had a stopwatch in his palm -- "how long?" 

The Steward glanced sharply at the Omnipotent to see if it was all right to answer to someone so far outside the social circle. When the Omnipotent nodded, he drawled, "Two thousand, three hundred thirty-six years and seven seconds." He clicked his stopwatch. "And that," he added uncomfortably, "is just a rounded number. I cannot come the precise amount at so short a time." 

Not many people enjoyed being a Steward. (The full title was Caretaker of the Cards, Fiduciary of Figures, and Custodian of Extremely Mathematical Horse Hockey, but his pride prevented him from using it.) 

"You see?" she said, turning so she could face everyone. "Many Lords have at least six years' paid vacation time per year, but I have not left my post until recently, because of business being so... unusually busy." 

The former was, sadly, nothing but the absolute truth, but by now Universal Society had declared it a perfectly reasonable amount of time to take, the job of a Lord being so stressful. What Lords did besides lying back in the tropical beaches was not entirely clear, but everyone was convinced of its immense importance, thus explaining the huge paychecks. 

As for the latter, "unusually busy" was quite an understatement. What with Silver Millennium being turned to rubble, all those bad guys named after jewels mysteriously showing up to annoy Serenity's reincarnated form, and the arrival, embarking, and returning of Chibi Usa, things were pretty hectic. 

A Third Lord waved her hand impatiently. "Yes, yes, we are aware of your efforts." She stacked the papers in front of her. "We hear you have even saved the Universe a few times, and are grateful. If we were not grateful, we would not have granted your leave to write this supposed help book." 

" 'An Otaku's Guide to Non-Anime Persons and Other Annoyances'," Setsuna corrected absently. "That's the full title." 

The Third Lord glanced at her sharply over rectangular gold-rimmed glasses. "Yes," she said. "And no doubt it will sell well. Kami knows we've all needed a book like that. However." She looked over her papers, which had been stacked five times already. She began to stack them again, then stopped herself. "It seems you have been having... difficulties." 

There was no denying it. The Namek had pretty strong friends, though most of the time they just lay back and watched the insanity. 

"Yes," Setsuna said. "I will be better prepared next time." 

"If there is a next time," the Second Lord put in. "You *are* working on a deadline, you know." 

"Be quiet," the Third Lord said evenly. "I would like to hear her plan." 

Setsuna blanched. Plan? What plan? She looked around hopefully, but all she saw was skepticism and some dry amusement. The Omnipotent's face was hidden beneath his hood, but she doubted he would help her. His job didn't involve taking sides. 

"Well," she said carefully, "for starters, I am decreasing the amount of exposition. Twenty teenage girls was really too much. Two next time, maybe three, at the most. I wouldn't like things to get out of hand." 

The Third Lord nodded. "Go on," she said. 

"Um. Er, well-" 

There was a yowl, and a grey streak sped toward the Third Lord. On closer examination, Setsuna realized it was a cat. It began to meow in the Third Lord's ear, the latter nodding. Setsuna puzzled over this for a moment, then nodded in understanding. The Third Lord must be a witch; witches had many spells for understanding what their cats were saying, though they hadn't the slightest clue what any other cat might say. 

The Third Lord stood. "Very well, Trouble," she said briskly. "Tell Jasper I do not appreciate his sleeping at his post. And inform Grendel immediately, so that he may call the Chairwitch." The cat let out a meow of protest. "I don't care how much you dislike him, you are to tell him and that is that." 

The cat paused, then raced off, tail high. The Third Lord turned to the Omnipotent. "Excuse my interruption," she said, removing her glasses and wiping the lenses carefully with the fold of her black robe. "Perkin has escaped." 

This caused quite a reaction. The Second Lord who had been interrogating Setsuna fell out of his chair; the Steward made a low hissing noise between his teeth and scribbled something down on a pad of paper; and another Second Lord shouted, "I knew the bloke would get away! I tell you, we need *iron* locks as well as magical ones!" 

The Steward toddled up to the Omnipotent. "Exalted One," he said formally, pocketing his stopwatch. "If you could tell me when exactly he escaped-" 

"How in the devil's name should I know?" the Omnipotent said crossly. "Ask Morwen, or if you wish, ask that cat of hers. Now," he removed his hood, showing slanted grey eyes and a slight scowl, "Third Lord Morwen, would you mind explaining to me what the sam hell is going on here?" 

"I thought I pretty much explained it the first time," Morwen said, settling back into her seat. "Perkin escaped. Jasper was asleep at his post, so he didn't hear the jailer's yells. And he will get punished for his unfulfilled vigil, let me assure you." 

"But how?" 

"I do not know. Jasper sent for help as soon as he could, but by then Perkin's trail was at least twenty minutes old. What with Perkin's magic, we couldn't have caught him unless we had a head start." 

"Um," Setsuna said. Several Lords jumped; apparently they had forgotten she was there. "Would you mind telling me what's going on?" 

"I do not like explaining things more than once. I hope you have been listening?" Morwen said. 

"Oh, let me assure you, this fascinates me," Setsuna said caustically. "But I just want to know who Perkin is, why he was in jail, and what this Jasper did." 

"Fair enough." Morwen paused for a moment, then began. "Jasper is my cat. I have nine of them; the cat you saw was Trouble. Jasper was keeping watch in front of the jail, in case anything happened. Unfortunately, he fell asleep." 

A few of the lesser Lords snickered. Morwen ignored them. "Jasper told Trouble, who told me. Trouble is now going to inform Grendel, the Chairwitch's cat, so that *she* can tell the other witches, so that *they* will be on the lookout." 

"Good," Setsuna said, nodding. "And you don't need to tell me about witches only understanding their own cats. I know that part already." 

Morwen looked at her curiously. "I wasn't planning to. Now. Perkin is an elf." 

"The Anti-Christ," a Fourth Lord muttered. 

"Not an Anti-Christ," a Fifth Lord whispered. "More like... you know... of o' them Cornish Pixies." 

Setsuna winced sympathetically. "That bad, huh? I didn't know elves were such trouble." 

"Most aren't. But this one is... different. He was in jail for causing some trouble up north. Arrested about a week ago. I don't think he's been in one place for so long. The jail must have been driving him berserk." 

"But you'll know his trouble-making capabilities soon enough, when you go out to catch him," the Omnipotent said cheerfully. He took out a cigar. 

Morwen blinked. Then, slowly, she began to smile. "Of course," she said. "The perfect way to make up for your failing experiment." 

"What?!" 

"As I said before, I do not enjoy repeating myself," Morwen said. 

Setsuna stared. "But... do you want me to finish the book or not?" 

"You can... as soon as you capture him. Or perhaps you can do it at the same time," the Omnipotent lit his cigar and shoved it in his mouth. "Yes. Your experiments on this Piccolo would certainly attract him. He couldn't resist. He does love to have a good time, I'll give him that." 

The Lords were not allowed to mutter discontentedly at any of the Omnipotent's decrees. They did it anyway. 

"Shut up," the Omnipotent said coolly. He puffed on his cigar. "Ugh. I hate this brand. Steward, get me a box of Cuban cigars next time." 

"Yes, Exalted One." 

"And quit those damn formalities. They give me a headache." 

"Yes, Exal -- er, yes." 

" 'Smore like it." he raised his voice over the mutterings. "If anyone objects, he can be escorted outside by Security. Hmm... after that, his limbs will be torn off for the Gorgons to eat. And then... let's see... his bloody remains will be hung in front of my palace as a warning to others. So," he extinguished the cigar and turned to face the assembly of Lords, "any objections?" 

Silence. 

"Very good. I think I'm getting the hang of this Omnipotence. You are all dismissed." He turned to some paperwork, taking out an enormous pen made of three peacock feathers. 

Everyone walked as quickly and unnoticeably toward the exit as they could. Only Setsuna and Morwen stayed. The Omnipotent looked at them, looked at his paperwork, and sighed. "What do you want? And make it quick, I need to inform a bunch of Lords that Perkin's gone." 

"Sir, would you mind answering a question of mine?" Setsuna asked. 

"Seems like you've been asking enough questions for one day," the Omnipotent said, smiling. "But one more. What is it?" 

"Why did you want me to experiment on Piccolo?" 

The Omnipotent's smile widened. "Oh, I don't know," he said, placing his hood back on his head. "I guess he needed it." The Omnipotent knew just about everything about everyone. It was part of the job description. 

"Needed it?" 

"Piccolo sees life in a certain manner, and whoever sees it differently had better get out of his way. He's that kind of guy. But I figure this will broaden his personality a little." His eyes lingered a bit over Setsuna's face. "Very much so." 

Setsuna didn't notice. "Yes, but I did not expect such interference. I mean, the *kid* might be stronger than me." 

"Perhaps so, but that will certainly increase your training. Besides, from what I heard, you got your revenge. Broke his video game, I believe, and stole his car." 

She flushed. "I broke the Gameboy so that he would attack me. I stole the car so that the attack wouldn't kill me. Besides, the car had already been destroyed by the short guy." 

"Which short guy? Never mind, I don't want to know." 

"Why did you want him to attack you?" Morwen asked curiously. 

"Crossing dimensions is tiring. After crossing a dimension myself, along with twenty hyperactive teenage girls, I was exhausted. The attack would give me enough of a boost of momentum to get me to cross again to the Council Room." 

Morwen nodded briskly. "You had best go home," she advised. "I need to speak with the Omnipotent about some... business. Start your experiment -- or decoy -- tomorrow." 

Setsuna nodded. "I will," she said. She gave a slight bow and exited quickly, retrieving her staff as she went. 

"Make a cute couple, don't they?" the Omnipotent said, grinning. 

"You can never be too sure." Morwen stared at the door thoughtfully. "Never. Especially with match-making." 

"You're too stiff." 

Morwen smiled wryly at the Omnipotent. "One of us has to be." 

--- 

Vegeta was doing something that surprised even himself: he decided to take the day off. 

And so there he sat, god of the television, watching some subtitled reruns of The Brady Bunch, and wondering how the hell this could be popular, even in the sixties. He sighed. He should've rented Gundam Wing. 

*Oh well,* he shrugged mentally. *Might as well not make this a total waste.* 

"Woman!" he yelled, flicking to a new channel. "Bring me a beer!" 

Bulma peeked out from the kitchen "But Vegeta," she reasoned as calmly as she could, "it's only eleven a.m. You haven't even finished your cereal." 

Vegeta flashed her an annoyed look. "Can't a Saiyan get a good drink with his damned Lucky Charms cereal without interference? Now." 

Bulma let out an exaggerated sigh and obeyed, knowing it was useless. Oh, and yes; Vegeta *does* eat Lucky Charms, no matter what you people say. 

Vegeta sighed. "I hate television. Sports especially. I mean, the people there are such amateurs. Now, if, for example, that quarterback were to rip off that halfback's head..." 

"Do you how *rare* you are?" a new voice demanded. Vegeta turned to see an elf, perched on Mrs. Briefs' new chandelier. Considering the circumstantial evidence, I believe it would be safe to say it was Perkin. 

Vegeta, being who he was, took the sudden appearance of a supposed fantasy creature in stride. "What's so rare about me?" he demanded back with equal intensity. 

"All men, and several women, I hear, are into some sport. You're an extinct species." 

Vegeta chuckled grimly. "I'm an extinct species whether I like football or not." he squinted at the elf. "Hey, you one of those demons?" 

"No." 

Vegeta looked unconvinced, so Perkin opened his mouth wide and pointed at his teeth. "No fangs," he said. He held up his inhumanly pale skin to the light from the window. "No fur. And my ears aren't like a wolf's, they're just pointy." 

"Ah," Vegeta said wisely, nodding his head. He paused. "Then what the hell *are* you?" 

Perkin looked at him in exasperation. "I'm an ELF." 

"Er, yes, I can see that, but... oh hell, what're you doing in my living room?" 

"I am doing this." Perkin tugged one of the beads about his waist. A spark emitted. 

"What was that?" 

"That was me planting a spell." Perkin was about to turn away, but paused. "Hey," he said suddenly, grinning. "Drink beer, do you?" 

"A bit. Now about that spell you-" 

"Can you keep it down?" 

Vegeta blinked. "Of course I can! I'm the Prince of the Saiyans! Now about that-" 

"Saiyans are weak," Perkin said with obvious distaste. "Bet you can't drink more than two without keeling over." 

A matter of pride was at stake. For the Saiyans, for the Cause, for all winos in general. Vegeta knew what he had to do. 

" 'Course I can! Hell, bet I can drink fifty!" 

"Oh can you?" Perkin raised an eyebrow. "Very well, then. You drink fifty beers, I give you fifty thousand-yen. You don't, I can torment you for five years. Agreed?" 

"Sure." They shook hands. "Now that spell you pl-" 

"Seeya." Perkin turned away, tugged one of the beads about his waist, and disappeared. 

"Come back here!" Vegeta yelled. No, no, no. This was wrong. There was a spell here, he needed to drink fifty beers and he wasn't even on number one, what's a yen? 

Okay. Okay. He had to straighten it out. Here was the problem: A spell had been planted in his house. 

No, that wasn't too important. Here was the *real* problem: He just gave someone permission to torment him for five years. 

The solution: Drink beer. Lots of beer. Yeah, no big deal. Not at all. 

Vegeta settled back in his chair. "Elves," he muttered. On a lighter note, he shouted, "Woman, where's that beer?" 

Bulma marched in, gave him the beer, and marched back out again, face carefully neutral. 

Vegeta muttered about women and how they had no brains. He continued on about how he may be picking up on their habits -- thus explaining the disappearing elves and references to magic, which was, of course, nothing but trickery and illusion. The rant cleared his mind, calmed him down, and made the thought of a planted spell in the living room less urgent. Having decided that all women were idiots, he began to channel surf again. 

The phone rang. Vegeta ignored it. 

It rang twice. Vegeta ignored it. 

It rang urgently four times. Vegeta muttered more insults about women and settled on WCW. 

The phone was now practically jumping off the coffee table. Vegeta attempted to ignore it, but didn't get any farther than that. For some reason, he felt like he was on some highly dangerous drugs. The sky went inside the room and spread wide, and the television began to sing some old ballad, and the phone made a little dance symbolizing the overall usefulness of phones and the growing usefulness when one picked them up if they were ringing. 

Vegeta was feeling very dizzy. "Oh yeah... didn't that little guy plant a spell here or somethin'?" he asked the phone. The phone ignored him, preparing for a gigantic twirl. 

"Fun, fun, fun," the television said, slightly off key, "in the sun, sun, sun." 

"What the hell are you doing?" Vegeta asked the television. 

The television paused. "I'm singing the theme song to 'Red Dwarf.' If you don't know that, then you need to watch more TV." 

"Shut up before I blast you." 

"Fun, fun, fun," the television repeated. "In the sun, sun, sun." Vegeta was just gathering ki to blast it when the spell took full effect. He stared, expression blank, at the wall. Slowly, various pieces of furniture stopped their dance numbers, songs or other bits of entertainment. 

Perkin reappeared, checked his beads and the Saiyan, and nodded his approval. The spell had worked. Carefully, Perkin crept next to Vegeta and said, "Answer the phone." 

At first, there was no reaction. But after a slight poke from Perkin, Vegeta heaved a great sigh, shuddered from the tip of his hair to the bottom of his boots, and stood. His eyes had a cloudy and ghostly look. Perkin nodded his approval one last time and backed into the chandelier. 

Vegeta muttered as he picked up the phone, "I think I'd better answer it. Stupid woman." 

"Hello?" a voice said from the other line. 

"Mushi.... mushi....?" 

"Hello. Is this Vegeta?" 

Automatically, Vegeta answered, "I am Prince Vegeta, the strongest warrior in the universe." 

With this little reminder, Vegeta's brain began to function again. The spell was ancient history. Perkin made a mental note to make a stronger one next time. But never mind; this one had served its purpose. 

"Umm... so this is Vegeta, right?" the voice said uncertainly. 

"Yes," Vegeta said. In afterthought, he added, "Bow." 

"Oh yeah. Definitely Vegeta. Hold on, please." 

Vegeta held on, listened to the little Garth Brooks song, and wondered why he even bothered to answer the phone. 

After a while, the song stopped. There was a click. The same voice said, "Hey, do you live on Capsule Road or Capsule Avenue? Or is it Capsule Street?" 

"Hard to say," Vegeta said. "We own the city." 

"Oh. I was just wondering, you see. We're tracking down where you live, but the road -- or the street or avenue -- is just stated as Capsule." There was a pause. "You know," the voice said crossly, "We could use a little help here." 

Somewhere on the other line, a second voice said, "Found it!" 

"Oh great," the first voice said with evident relief. It turned back to the phone and said, "Thanks, but it seems we found it." 

"Um," Vegeta said. "Whhr?" 

"Oh, didn't I tell you? We're tracking down where you live. It'll be a matter of minutes before we can get to your house. I'd suggest you'd call a lawyer, because you're gonna need one." 

There was a click. Vegeta stared at the phone in his hand, and mechanically placed it back on its receiver. 

"I," he said slowly, "have just done something very, very stupid." 

As if on cue, the phone began to ring again. Bulma swept in and grabbed it, handing Vegeta a second beer at the same time. Vegeta took an appreciative swig, then sputtered. "Woman," he choked. "Don't answer the phone. It-" 

"Hello?" Bulma said brightly, pushing Vegeta away. 

Goku's voice answered. "Er, Bulma? Can I talk to Vegeta?" 

Bulma registered a double take. "Um," she said, "Sure. Hold on, Goku, let's see if Vegeta-" 

She registered another double take when Vegeta grabbed the phone from her hands. 

"What is it, Kakarott?" Vegeta said. "Did you get that foolish call as well?" 

"Vegeta?" Bulma asked. "What call?" 

"Actually," Goku said, "that's why I called you -- and don't call me Kakarott. What do you think we should do? The AFD sounds really pissed off." 

"The what?" Vegeta asked. "What's the AFD?" 

"Oh, didn't they tell you?" Goku honestly sounded surprised. "AFD stands for the Angry Feminists Division." 

"Feminists?" 

"You know, it's really tough listening to only one side of a conversation," Bulma complained. 

"Oh," Goku said, "don't you know what they are?" 

"I know most of your ridiculous human customs and terms," Vegeta said dryly, "but this one's news to me." 

"Oh. Well. Feminists are an organization of females who, er, basically don't like it when the other sex discriminates against them. Treats them inferior, weaker. Confined to the kitchen whilst the other party goes bowling." 

"I'm missing something here, Kakarott." 

"And what's -- don't call me Kakarott!" 

Vegeta ignored him. "Isn't that all they're for?" 

Goku sounded irritated by both the comment and the carrot reference. "Tell that to the AFD." 

"Maybe I will." 

"Maybe you won't," Goku said firmly. "Besides, things are different here. Women are supposed to be treated equal to men." 

"But... they're *not!*" 

"Vegeta, what're you arguing about?" Bulma asked through gritted teeth. 

"And at any rate," Vegeta said. "These 'feminists' are no threat. Blow them up. Or if that makes your stomach churn, I'll be happy to blast them for you." 

"Vegeta, they're a threat. I don't wanna get sued. Besides, after the Sushi Incident, you're not supposed to kill any more people than necessary." 

"I was framed!" 

"I'm sure," Goku said, his tone implying the exact opposite. "Anyway, they're coming to your house, right? I'll go with Piccolo-" 

"Piccolo?" Vegeta interrupted. "What's that Namek have to do with this? He's got no gender, right? Shouldn't they make him their mascot or something?" 

"Come to think of it, I have no idea," Goku said, a little thoughtfully. "Maybe they want a witness. At any rate, me, Piccolo, and Master Roshi'll meet you." 

Vegeta snorted softly. It figured Roshi would be in this mess. 

"So, Kakarott-" 

"I'm going right away. Goodbye. And don't call me Kakarott." 

Vegeta opened his mouth to speak, but it was quite clear that Goku had hung up. He sighed and plopped back into his chair. 

"All I wanted," he groaned. "Was one day off." 

"You should know by now that that's impossible, Vegeta," Bulma said gently. 

"Shaddup and get me another beer." 

Now I think this requires some explanation. (About why the feminists are there, not about the beer. We all know why Vegeta wants beer.) 

Setsuna did, in fact, arrange for the next experiment. However, instead of crossing dimensions, she simply called a group of feminists -- a small group, but a group it was -- who she stirred up by describing the lives of Chichi and Bulma, how the group of warriors were all male, and even went so far as to point out Master Roshi. She so moved the group that they set out immediately to stop the sexism that ruled the lives of the warriors. All was set. Setsuna settled back to watch with a notebook, a pencil, and a club to knock out certain trouble-making elves. 

--- 

In a lonely empty warehouse, in a lonely empty room, sitting at a lonely empty table, were three women. The table was incredibly long, and richly decorated. Evidently, however, it was intended for more than three people to come. Every place was set, candles gleamed, and a nice harvest centerpiece was placed in the middle. Banners were hung across the room with inspiring phrases such as: "End Horrid Sexism With Dramatic Impact!" and, "Increase Amount of Women in the Workplace!" and, "Sue, Dammit!" 

A closer look at the three women proved they were sisters. The eldest, named Brenda, was in her mid-thirties. Her eyes were rather nice -- amber, with flecks of green -- but the uneven eyelashes and frown ruined them. Her skin was deathly pale, her hair a plain mouse-grey, and she would have been considered reasonably plain in polite society. But once again, her frown ruined the appearance; she looked like the most miserable person in the world with that frown. 

The middle, named Hyacinth, was younger and had fairly simpler eyes, a dependable grey. Her hair was straight dark brown, tied in a simple bun, which did not compliment her face too much. She looked very thoughtful at the moment, as if wondering how best to approach a difficult problem. 

The youngest, with the appropriate nickname of Mags Mags, was the opposite of the other two to the extreme. Blonde hair, dyed a particular shade of yellow that would make your skin crawl; bright blue eyes that were far too wide and innocent for someone in her twenties; and finally, a simple-minded smile seen on village idiots and accountants. 

"Well, Brenda," Hyacinth said at last, "it seems that no one showed up to the meeting." 

"Well, it *is* our first one," Brenda said philosophically. 

Mags Mags gave her a confused smile. "No it isn't," she said. Brenda kicked her. "Oh, wait. Yes it is." 

"With or without members," Brenda said dramatically, "soon these 'DragonballZ' sexist Neanderthals will wish they had never met the AFD." 

"That reminds me," Hyacinth poked the nearby centerpiece with a fork. "Our name sucks. Can we come up with another one?" 

"I don't know about you, but I like the idea of 'chicks with an attitude!' " Mags Mags declared, applying some eyeliner. 

" 'Chicks'? Isn't that what we want to avoid?" 

Brenda looked at them in horror. "We can't change the name! We already ordered the T-shirts! You two are a disgrace to the AFD." 

"We know," Hyacinth said wearily. "You tell us. At every meeting. Or rather, since this is our first meeting, every 'philosophical discussion.' I guess this explains why you're president, ne?" 

"Be quiet," Brenda snapped. "Come on, we need to get going to Capsule Corp." 

"I like Vegeta's hair," Mags Mags said brightly, closing her purse with a snap. 

Meanwhile, Goku was about to leave with Master Roshi and Piccolo. 

"I still don't see why *I* have to come," Piccolo muttered. 

"Oh, hush," Gohan said, absorbed in his new Gameboy. 

"Goku, must you leave on another one of your adventures?" Chichi asked while washing the dishes. A dish broke from her grip. She set it aside and started on the next one. "Think about the example you're setting for Gohan!" 

Goku looked at Piccolo and Master Roshi, who both shrugged. He looked back at Chichi. "Well, Gohan is almost a young man by now. Surely he can set his own example...?" Goku said, desperately clutching at a straw. 

Another dish broke in Chichi's grasp. "That is not true! Poor Gohan is only seven years old! And you promised to play with him today!" 

"Aw, mom," Gohan said reassuringly. "It's not so-" 

"Quiet," Chichi said with gritted teeth. 

"Now where's that paper?" Goku muttered. 

"You're not even paying attention!" Chichi shrieked. Three more broken plates joined the first two. 

Goku grabbed his papers in a rush. "Er... gotta go! C'mon, Master Roshi. Piccolo." 

Piccolo left the room without a second glance, but Master Roshi lingered behind. He gave Chichi a wink. "Don't worry, hon. It's not your place to worry about these matters. Goku'll be fine, and Gohan's a big boy." He reached out to slap her on the rear, but Chichi grabbed his hand with surprising force. Her eyes flashed. 

"Don't... say... it's not... my business... you... pervert!" 

Master Roshi wriggled. Piccolo watched through the window with obvious enjoyment. 

Goku stuck his head back inside. "Hey, Chichi, can you let go of Master Roshi now? We're kinda in a rush." 

Chichi stared at Goku in amazement. "You...," she stammered. She turned her back to him. "You JERK! I don't care if you ever come back!" 

Goku looked confused and worried. He had a simple view on life, and Chichi always seemed to make it more complex. In her calmer moments, she might have realized that, but right now was not one of those moments. Goku took one last worried look at her, grabbed Master Roshi, and headed for the door. "Umm. I'll be back for dinner. 'Bye, Chichi. I lo-" 

"Hurry up," Master Roshi snapped, cross because of his failure. He dragged Goku out the door. 

Chichi looked at the six broken plates. She headed for the next one; their number increased to seven. She threw it to the floor in anger and folded her arms "Why do I even bother?" she asked the dishes. 

"Beats me," Perkin said. Thankfully, Chichi did not hear him, preoccupied in thought. 

--- 

Vegeta scowled at his beer. Thirty-five more to go, not counting this one. He sighed. Maybe it *was* just illusion. It would certainly explain a lot. 

"Oh, no, you aren't doubting me, are you?" Perkin said, coming out from around the house. A huge sandwich was in his hand. "You can always forfeit, if you wish." 

"Yeah, right," Vegeta snapped. "What are you, some sort of psycho?" 

"That's 'psychic'," Perkin corrected. "And I'm not. Looking at your face is good enough. You need to learn to hide your expressions." 

"Oh, shut up." 

"I believe I will," Perkin said thoughtfully, looking past Vegeta. He walked back around the house, munching on the sandwich as he went. Vegeta knew why. Without turning around, he said, "About time you showed up, Kakarott. I was beginning to wonder if I'd have to wait until sundown." 

"Er," a voice said. Vegeta turned to see the old pervert. He was probably the one who got them in trouble in the first place. He glared. 

"Er," Master Roshi repeated, determined to say something. Vegeta's eyes narrowed to slits. Master Roshi began to sweat. "Er..." 

"Spit it out, old man." 

"Er," Master Roshi said. Vegeta scowled. He rushed on. "Why are you sitting on the front steps, Vegeta?" 

Vegeta looked at Master Roshi. He looked at the concrete steps beneath him. He looked at Master Roshi again. He took another swig of beer. Head spinning slightly, he snapped, "Since when am I available for safe conversation? Away from me, weakling, before I fry you." 

Master Roshi backed away nervously. "Heheh." 

"Vegeta?" a female voice called from the other side of the door. "Are they here?" 

Goku squinted at the door. "Bulma? That you?" 

"No, it's the Easter bunny," Vegeta said sardonically. He pounded on the door. "Woman! Let me in!" 

"Alright..." 

Cautiously, Bulma opened the door and let Goku, Master Roshi and (in afterthought) Piccolo in. When Vegeta tried to follow, she slammed the door in his face with an air of expertise. 

"Um, Bulma," Goku warned. "I don't think-" 

BANG! 

The door was reduced to dust with the flick of Vegeta's wrist. 

Goku sighed. "Never mind." 

"Get out, you jerk!" Bulma shouted right in Vegeta's ear. 

Vegeta clutched his head. "Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" 

He took a swig of his beer, only to find it was empty. He tossed the bottle aside. 

"Woman! Get me another!" 

"B-but Vegeta," Bulma wailed, "you've already had fifteen!" Vegeta ignored her. "It's too much for you, Saiyan or no Saiyan!" 

Vegeta stiffened. He leaned forward, face so close to Bulma their noses almost touched. "Just for that comment," he hissed, "make it two." 

Bulma threw up her hands, gave a dramatic sigh to show she wasn't impressed, and went to get the beers. 

"Maybe the feminists shouldn't come with him in this condition," Goku said to Piccolo and Master Roshi. 

"Don't tell me what to do, Kakarott!" Vegeta snapped. 

Goku looked very confused. "But I'm not!" 

Vegeta now began to sway. "Do you have proof of that?" 

"Vegeta, why on earth are you drinking so much beer?" Master Roshi asked. 

Vegeta was now too messed up to care about any secrecy with Perkin. "To prove that Saiyans can take it. Especially and only Princes of Saiyans." He waved his arms. "The pride of the Saiyan race -- or at the least the Royal Family -- rests on my shoulders." 

"To whom are you proving all this?" Piccolo asked. "Bulma?" 

Head dangerously to one side, Vegeta said, "No." 

"Then who?" Goku asked. 

"A little voice in my head," Vegeta said sarcastically. The three listeners looked shocked. *Oh, crap,* Vegeta thought. *They believe me. Idiots.* 

Suddenly, he looked up to see Perkin, perched on the roof of the house. The elf waved. Then he pulled down his lower eyelid and stuck out his tongue. He grinned wildly and finally rolled on the roof with silent laughter. Vegeta flushed slightly. 

Goku, Piccolo, and Master Roshi saw Vegeta's eyes wander. They looked up to see... nothing. They exchanged worried glances, and looked back at Vegeta, who was muttering curses under his breath, looking for all the world like he was talking to a person only he could see. Or something in his head. 

"He's laughing at me," Vegeta said wildly. He hiccuped. 

Goku arched his eyebrows. "I see." 

Vegeta turned to Goku. "You do, do you? Well, that means you aren't blind." 

"Um," Master Roshi said. 

"Can't think of something to say, old man? Let me say it for you." 

"No, that's quite alright," Master Roshi stammered. 

Vegeta continued on. "Say, 'Here come the feminists.' Considering this is you, you should also say, 'Kami, that third one is,' " here Vegeta slacked his jaw and bent forward in an imitation of Master Roshi, " 'sooooo hot.' " 

They all turned to see the three women standing in the doorframe. 

"Oh, dear," Bulma said, handing Vegeta a beer in each hand. 

"Let us in!" Brenda shouted through a microphone in Piccolo's ear. "You can't keep us out!" 

Vegeta hiccuped again. "Oh, yeah?!" He flew out over to them -- well, sort of. It seemed the beer was finally affecting him. He would walk a few paces on the ground, then float upwards, then downwards again. Finally, he tripped over to where Brenda stood. "Why are you mad?" he asked thickly. "Everyone knows that women are lower than men... except for you." 

"We want to have a People's Court here and now!" Brenda shouted through the microphone. Piccolo rubbed his ears and glared at her. 

Vegeta deadpanned. "Shwa?" he asked Goku. 

Goku struggled in an attempt to explain. "Y'see, it's like being sued. But without lawyers. And there's a video camera." 

Vegeta's face lighted up. "Let me be the judge!" 

"No!" the microphone boomed. Piccolo backed away several paces. Brenda seemed to calm down. "We've picked someone neutral." She pointed at Piccolo, who looked nonplused. 

"So *that's* why they wanted him!" Goku said. 

"He may be a man," Hyacinth said reasonably, "but he doesn't care about the whole issue here. Not to mention his Namekian heritage." 

Now, for those of you who don't know 'the deal' about Piccolo, let's put it this way: in the Battle of the Sexes, he's Switzerland. I'm glad you all understand. 

Vegeta was not following this conversation. Perkin had apparently given up showing up to annoy him. Instead, under inspiration from Goku, he talked in his head. 

*Feeling a little loopy, Vegeta?* Perkin's voice snickered. *Maybe you should lie down and watch some television... not sports, you'll get too high strung. Telletubies, perhaps?* 

Vegeta tossed away the two beers and clutched at his head. "Woman! Another." Bulma gave him an odd look, but obeyed. Brenda now looked furious. 

"Look how he's treating her!" she wept into the microphone. "Setsuna was right!" 

Goku, Piccolo, and even Vegeta started. They exchanged knowing looks. "Who?" Goku said inquiringly. 

*Setsuna, eh?* Perkin's voice said to Vegeta. *Wonder what she's doing outside. I thought she guarded the Gates.* 

"Huh?" Vegeta asked. 

*She guards time and space. Very heavy responsibilities. But never mind that now, here comes Bulma with another beer.* 

"Gimmee," Vegeta said to Bulma, and made a grab for the beer. He drank deeply to clear his head. He drank a little more to un-clear his head. Then he drank to think about what Perkin said. 

Vegeta was still trying to make sense of the statement when Mags Mags winked and waved at him. "Hey there," she called, tossing her hair back. Hyacinth groaned. Brenda was still weeping. 

Vegeta bent forward curiously and wondered at her hair color. "I didn't know feminists resembled preppies so well." he commented. Mags Mags frowned. 

"You aren't very nice," she pouted. 

"You should see him when he isn't drunk," Goku said, shaking his head. 

Brenda sniffled into her handkerchief. "Let's move it, people." She clapped her hands. Hyacinth and Mags Mags leaped to attention. At the blink of an eye, a judge's box and a witness stand appeared. Wizard-like (or more appropriately, witch-like), they produced an audience and a disgruntled Tien and Chaotzu, wearing security guard outfits. Meanwhile, Brenda walked up to Piccolo. 

"Here's your wig," she said, handing him what looked like an old yellow mop that had been treated with curlers. 

"What?!" 

"Every proper judge wears a wig. Deal with it." 

Piccolo sighed, tore off his turban, and put it on backwards. His glare dared anyone to correct him. No one did. 

"Good." Brenda said. "Now, sit up on the judge's booth. Here's your gavel," she added, handing him a second-rate mallet. Piccolo eyed it dubiously, but took it and settled into the box. In another part of the Brief backyard, an unhappy Bulma held a video camera as Krillan hosted the fabulous ordeal. 

"Welcome to THE DRAGONBALL COURT," Krillan said, trying to sound dramatic. "With your host... um... me! The court will begin in five minutes, as soon as Vegeta finishes vomiting in the bathroom... hey, look, here he comes now!" 

A flushed Vegeta stepped out into the sunlight. He blinked. 

"What?!" he paused, listening. "That is NOT TRUE! Princes of Saiyans CAN keep down beer!" He clenched his fist furiously. "Will you stop your laughing?!" 

Krillan tapped Vegeta on the shoulder. "Um... Vegeta... who are you talking to?" 

"Whhrr...?" Vegeta very slowly started to drink another beer. "I told you already, Kakarott!" 

"Vegeta, I'm not Goku," Krillan said bemusedly. 

"Quit toying with me, Kakarott. And those other two Kakarotts beside you." 

"Um..." Krillan said. 

Vegeta took a large swig of beer and tried to keep it down. "Can't think of something to say, Kakarott? Let me say it for you." 

"Huh?" 

Vegeta paused, bent over. He squinted up at Krillan. Suddenly, amazingly, horribly, he began to... 

... giggle. 

"You're a poop-head," Vegeta said, still giggling. 

Krillan was not as shocked by this silly insult than by the fact that Vegeta was giggling. 

"Vegeta, are you feeling okay?" 

Vegeta straightened. "I am fine, Kakarott. You're a poop-head, that's all." 

"I see." 

"Yes. You said that already, Kakarott. And as I said before, that means you are not blind." 

"How observant," Bulma muttered. "Wonder what he's gonna do now." 

But it seemed as if Bulma was going to be disappointed, because nothing happened. Vegeta just stood there, a little bent over again, looking up at Krillan. Not expectantly, curiously, even evilly... just looking at him with a dumb expression on his face. He blinked. Krillan blinked back. Vegeta blinked again, while Krillan scratched his head. Then he stopped when he realized he felt something up there. 

"Wha-?" Krillan said. He brushed his head some more. He abruptly turned to Bulma's video camera and peered closely at the lens. He rubbed his stubble. "I have hair!" he said with rapture. 

"Joy," Bulma said flatly. 

"No duh, Kakarott. Hey, did you get a haircut?" 

"I'm Krillan. And I have hair! That tonic must've really worked." 

"You're not Kakarott?" He paused. "Oh. Well, get me a beer." 

Krillan ignored him, reveling in his triumph. Vegeta walked away, then spotted a punch bowl. He paused once more. "My resources tell me that this punch has been spiked," he said, hesitating. "Is that a good thing?" 

Perkin whispered yes. 

"Oh. All right, then." He headed toward the punch bowl. 

--- 

"Gohan, I'm going out." 

Gohan looked up from his Gameboy to his mother. "Okay, 'Kaasan. What's the matter?" 

"NOTHING," Chichi said forcefully through gritted teeth. She struggled to put on her backpack, but it was too heavy for her. Gohan ended up abandoning his Gameboy just to help her get it on. 

"Geez," Gohan said, puffing. "Whaddya got in here, bricks?" 

"Yes. Bricks." 

Gohan gave her an odd look, but shrugged and headed back to his Gameboy. He shut it off and dutifully took out a magazine with the word 'Science' across it, hoping it would lighten his mother's mood. She didn't even notice. 

Gohan tried again. "Do you want me to finish my homework?" he asked. 

"I don't care. Why don't you visit that green guy instead?" Chichi said recklessly. 

Gohan, as can be expected, was shocked. "Something's really wrong, isn't it? Is it because of dad?" 

"Your FATHER is fine. I am not mad. I am not mad..." 

She left, still muttering. Gohan sighed and turned back his Gameboy, with a desperate hope to get his Charmander to get back to a Charmeleon. 

"C'mon!" he said, clicking buttons. 

Meanwhile, the punch bowl was almost empty. 

"I don't know what those little cups are for. They only get in the way." Vegeta said. He picked up the whole bowl and slurped up the contents. He turned, punch dribbling from his chin, to the staring audience who had arrived as -- well, an audience, I guess -- to THE DRAGONBALL COURT. 

"Hey," he said. 

"Um...," the staring audience responded. 

"Can't think of something to say, humans?" Vegeta taunted. "Let me say it for you." 

Goku slapped his forehead and muttered. 

"You are all poop-heads," Vegeta proclaimed. He giggled again. Bulma, fascinated, was recording this via video camera. 

"And the word for today is," Bulma said, winking and flashing a peace sign, "blackmail." 

"WOMAN!" 

"Uh," she stammered. Then she saw Vegeta preparing his usual response and said quickly, "Yes, Vegeta?" 

Vegeta giggled again, giving a drunken imitation of Bulma's peace sign. "I hope you got my good side." 

Bulma blinked in shock, then blinked again in relief. Vegeta was just about to dance for the camera when Goku walked up. 

"Hey, Vegeta," he called, "it's almost time, let's GO!" He grabbed Vegeta and dragged him toward the 'courtroom.' 

Vegeta squinted up at Goku. "Who's there? Kakarott? Oh, very well." 

"Quit calling me Kakarott." 

The audience quickly backed away as Goku and Vegeta came through. Goku led Vegeta to a table opposite to the feminists' one. 

"Sit here," he ordered, plopping Vegeta on a chair. Vegeta sat, a dazed expression on his face. 

"Okay," Piccolo said gruffly, pounding his gavel. "Here me, here me. It's time to begin, so let's start as soon as possible so we don't waste any time. Unlike you lunkheads," he nodded at the feminists, "I have things to do." 

"Like complete the third chapter," Sailor Pluto muttered, scribbling. Piccolo's eyes darted toward her hiding spot, but he said nothing, just scowled at his gavel. After a moment, he looked up. 

"Right," he said abruptly, "we'll begin with the defendant's statement. Defendants, rise." 

Goku and Master Roshi rose, but Vegeta remained seated. Goku nudged him, but Vegeta seemed intent on Perkin. 

*Hey, Veggie,* Perkin was saying, *Can you answer a question for me?* 

"Like what?" he muttered. 

*Like why Sailor Pluto is hiding in the bushes taking notes on your drunken stupor?* 

Vegeta snapped to attention. His head swiveled around the back yard, looking carefully over everything around him. Goku whacked Vegeta on the head. The latter did not notice. Piccolo continued to scowl moodily at his gavel. 

"You're right," Vegeta said finally to no one in particular. "She *is* watching me. I don't like people watching me when I'm drinking. It's not very polite." 

Like lightning, his hand darted toward the shrubbery right behind Piccolo's box. After much yelling and sputtering later, Sailor Pluto was dragged out before all present. 

Apparently she had decided to take some precautions. She had already transformed into her Pluto fuku. Over her shoulder was a club, which she now dropped. Her arms and legs were scratched as if she had been crawling through rose bushes, which was, of course, precisely what she had been doing. 

"Er, hello," she said. 

--- 

In the new Japanese K-Mart, unnoticed by any other customers, Chichi stood. 

Her backpack was so heavy she was partially bent over, and she didn't care. 

Her hair was a tangled mess, and she didn't care. 

A man was pointing a gun at her. She didn't care. 

Wait a minute. Rewind a bit. 

Yes, now she remembered. The man had rather rudely burst into the K-Mart, brandishing a gun and demanding everyone's money. That was a bit rude on it's own. It was even ruder on account of the fact this was exactly what she had been planning to do. 

Now he turned to the first helpless person in the room: Chichi. Or, at least, he had supposed she was the most helpless because she was the only female in the group. 

She smiled slightly. How foolish of him. 

"Lady, hurry up," he said, spitting on the newly tiled floors. "I ain't got all day. Gimme all yer money." 

"Why?" Chichi asked innocently, eyes wide. 

"*Why?*" the man said, horrified. "Ain't it obvious? I'm gonna kill ya if ya don't!" 

"Why?" Chichi asked, batting her eyelashes in what was correctly presumed as an infuriating manner. 

"Because I want money! And I'll kill -- yeah, kill -- to get it!" 

"Why do you want money?" Chichi asked. 

The man hesitated slightly. The grocer let out a low groan of frustration. He had been robbed before. Why couldn't the lady just hand over her purse and let the man get it over with? 

"Um," the man said, stumped. "Because then I can retire to the Bahamas! Yeah! That's it." He stuck the gun in her face. "Hand me yer purse." 

"Fair enough," Chichi said calmly. The other customers heaved silent sighs of relief. "But," Chichi added, "it's in my back pack. I'm afraid I'll have to take it off to get it. I just wanted to warn you, so that you won't accidentally shoot me by misinterpreting my movements." 

"Alright," the man said. "Damn reasonable of ya, if you'll excuse my language. Damned reasonable. I don't tolerate foolish women." 

"Of course not," Chichi said sweetly, letting her backpack down with a faint crash. The man jumped slightly, and glanced quickly out the window as if expecting to see a load of policemen parked right outside. He looked back at Chichi, who was holding her backpack and looking up at him with a patient expression. 

"Sweet Kami, woman!" he bellowed. "What th' hell've ya got in there, anyway? Bricks?" 

"Yes," Chichi said. "Bricks." 

There were three bangs. 

Through the smoke, you could barely see the rather grisly remains of the robber. 

"Anyone else?" Chichi asked brightly, adjusting the grip on her Uzi. 

--- 

"Look, don't get mad," Sailor Pluto was saying. 

"Too late," Piccolo said. 

"Hey, Setsuna," Mags Mags said happily, waving. Brenda whacked her on the head. "Ouch! What was that for?" 

"You fool," Brenda hissed, dragging her aside, "Don't you see? They know her! Do you know what that means?" 

"Um," Mags Mags widened her bright blue eyes at her elder sister. "They've seen her before?" 

"Exactly!" Brenda said, then hesitated. "No, what I mean to say is, she may have set this whole thing up." 

"Well, duh," Mags Mags said. "Even *I* knew that." 

"Listen, Piccolo," Sailor Pluto -- or rather, Setsuna, no one was fooled by her costume --began, but Vegeta cut her off. 

"Okay, shailored shap," he said, slurring his words, "I know thatsh I'm a very handshome man. But taking notesh on me when I's drunk! Tha'sh jusht shcary, ya know?" 

"You're taking notes? *Again?*" Piccolo demanded, horrified. 

*Oh dear,* Perkin's voice said in Vegeta's head, *You're not very articulate when you're drunk, Vegeta.* 

"Aw, shaddup," Vegeta said. "Not you," he added, waving at Piccolo, "You've gotsh perfect rightsh to be mad. After havin' to wear that wig n' all." 

Piccolo tore the said wig off. "I've had enough!" he said. "Why the hell are you experimenting on me?" 

"Because," Sailor Pluto said simply. 

*Couldn't think of a better reason myself,* Perkin said. 

"You don't even have a reason?" Piccolo said. 

"Well, of course I do," Sailor Pluto said. "I would be quite an idiot if I picked you randomly. There are many weaker, mellower, and handsomer men I could choose. However, it was not my choice." 

*Ooh, she's mad.* Perkin said. 

"How can you schtell?" Vegeta muttered. 

*There's no need to whisper. And I can tell. She didn't need to point out that Piccolo's face could frighten children -- and many adults as well.* 

Vegeta scratched his head. "Wellsh, she didn't shay thatsh, eshactly..." 

*I did.* 

"Vegeta, shut the voices in your head up for a minute!" Piccolo yelled, pounding the gavel. He turned and pointed a finger at Sailor Pluto. "What do you mean it wasn't your choice? It's your own damn book! And just what are you saying about my looks?!" 

Sailor Pluto glared. "Continue the court session. You are judge here, you know." 

"Excellent!" Brenda said, alive to opportunity. "The audience is waiting, Piccolo, you *are* judge here." She placed the wig, correctly this time, on his head. 

"But...," Piccolo said weakly. "The experiment... she's watching." He added forcefully, "And what the hell's wrong with my looks?!" 

"Call order," Hyacinth said sternly. "The audience is getting restless." 

The audience was, indeed, restless, and was also nervously backing away. Fortunately, Tien and Chaotzu were blocking the exits pretty well. After the first man's hair had been singed, the audience decided they'd rather live another day and kept a safe distance from the exit. 

Setsuna leapt nimbly onto a nearby tree. She gave Brenda a thumbs up. 

"But," Piccolo said, weakening with every second. 

"Call order," Hyacinth repeated. 

"Right." Piccolo pounded the gavel. "Vegeta! Rise!" 

Vegeta craned his neck at Piccolo. "Shince when do I follow your ordershes, green bean?" 

"Well, if you don't, the feminists win," Piccolo said skeptically. 

Vegeta hastily rose. 

"Good." Piccolo pointed his gavel at Vegeta. "State your stupid statement, and make it fast." 

"Women aren't as shtrong ash men," Vegeta announced. "If they weresh, there'd be female warriorsh in our leagueshes." 

"That's exactly why we're suing them," Hyacinth said. "All we ask is for a female warrior." 

"If I might make a-" Goku began. 

"Shaddup," Piccolo ordered. "Everyone be quiet." He pressed the gavel to his forehead, antennae drooping. 

"Okay," he said after a moment, "that was the statement. Now I decide who wins." 

"No!" Goku protested. "That's not right at all! We need witnesses, and evidence to prove they're not lying! Not to mention a jury." 

"We *do?*" Piccolo asked, aghast. 

"A real court session takes at least an hour," Goku said. 

"Well, I can't sit still with this ridiculous wig on my head for an hour. I'm getting a rash. The AFD wins. They get one female warrior." Piccolo began to take off his wig, but Brenda stopped him. 

Hyacinth leaned back in satisfaction. "And she can't be the weakest, neither." 

"Let's be serious, girls," Master Roshi said. "Where are we going to fine a female with a high power level? Surely Goku and the others would've sensed them by now." 

The feminists huddled up. 

"Can I leave now?" Piccolo asked hopefully. 

"Not 'til your decree's carried through," Brenda said firmly. 

"Sigh," Piccolo sighed. He scratched the wig. 

"Vegeta, take this," Bulma ordered, all but shoving a pill down his throat. 

"Whazzat?" The Saiyan prince inquired. 

"It'll get rid of that slurring. It's driving me insane." 

*Oh, I hope so,* Perkin chuckled. 

"Gimme tha-a-atsh!" Vegeta said, making a grab for the pill. He swallowed. 

"I know!" Brenda cried. All eyed her doubtfully, even her sisters. 

"What is it, feminine-nist?" Vegeta demanded. 

"Oh, *much* better," Bulma said with a happy sigh. "Honestly, you sounded like you were lisping. How many beers have you had, Vegeta?" 

"The elf's keeping track." 

"Enough!" Piccolo shouted hoarsely. His vocal cords had been used a bit too much that day. He turned to the leader of the feminists. "Brenda-" he began. 

"If that *is* your real name!" Vegeta said, waggling his finger in a knowing and extremely silly manner." 

"-Tell us your idea. And hurry up. I have some training to do." 

Vegeta stopped his finger waggling and looked up questioningly at Piccolo. "Why?" he asked. 

"Don't interrupt," Brenda said. 

"Um," Piccolo said, stumped, "because I need to get stronger. And my reputation..." 

Vegeta nodded wisely. "Ah. Say no more." 

"You understand, then." 

"Is anyone listening?" Brenda fumed. 

"Yes. That's happening right now, in fact. I need more beer to keep the flawless reputation this voice," Vegeta tapped his forehead, "is mocking intact." 

Piccolo fingered the gavel absently. "Hmmm. Maybe I should reconsider my motives." 

"Can I state my idea before the court?" Brenda asked through gritted teeth. 

"So what's your idea?" Piccolo asked. 

*Yeah, hurry up already,* Perkin said. 

Brenda flourished her hand in a fancy salute. "Me, of course." 

Eyes blinked, rolled, and narrowed. In Vegeta's case, they did all three at once. 

This wasn't the response Brenda was expecting. To clear things up, she added, "I'll be the female warrior." 

"Let me see if I get this straight..." Piccolo said. 

"The subject seemed a bit confused at the feminist's proclamation. Perhaps indications of the beginning of madness?" Setsuna muttered. Piccolo threw his gavel at her. "Consequently, the answer is 'yes.' " 

"I see no reason why I can't be the female warrior," Brenda said. 

Perhaps, on his less drunken moments, Vegeta would have simply killed her there and then. This, however, was not one of those moments. 

"Um, no." he said. 

"What do you mean, no?" Brenda asked, irritated. 

"Exactly what I said," Vegeta said, walking over to her. "No. Your power level is about five... when you're lucky." 

Brenda's irritated expression intensed. "You guys could train me." 

"Um, no. You see, hun," Vegeta put his arm around Brenda's shoulder, much to her own and Bulma's annoyance, "you aren't fighting material. You're too weak. It's the same with most women -- they'd just rather do other things than go and get themselves killed. So it doesn't make sense-" 

"Shaddup." 

Everyone turned to see the owner of the speaker. Chichi, feet planted firmly on the ground, stood in her glory. Tien and Chaotzu were unconscious beside her. A seven-pound submachine gun was across her slender shoulders. Her eyes were slightly crazed. Vegeta removed his arm from Brenda's shoulders and backed away a pace. 

*Coward,* Perkin's voice said. Vegeta moved up two paces. 

"The experiment has taken an unexpected turn," Setsuna murmured, scribbling wildly. 

"Chichi? What are you doing here?" Goku asked. 

"Shaddup." Tien groaned and began to sit up. Chichi took her purse and hit him on the head with it. He passed out again. 

"Hey," Krillan said. Chichi pointed the gun at him. He lifted his hands, palms forward, in a peaceful gesture. "Chichi, what are you carrying?" 

Chichi looked from the Uzi to Krillan. 

"Well," she said, "it looks like the Uzi I just took out a K-Mart with." 

They all stared. 

"Not for the first time in one of... of *her* experiments," Piccolo said, "I am shocked and appalled." 

"Good," Chichi said. "You should be." 

"Hey, what's a K-Mart?" Krillan whispered loudly. 

"A cheesy department store," Vegeta said unexpectedly. 

"Hey, how'd you know?" Chichi said. 

Vegeta tapped his head. "*He* told me." 

*I do what I can,* Perkin said. 

"Chichi, you're joking," Goku said. She pointed the gun in his face. "You're not joking." She shook her head grimly. 

"Er," he said, when Chichi didn't budge, "so, where's your father? Wasn't he coming over for dinner?" 

"He's at home," Chichi said. 

"Tied up," she added thoughtfully. 

"In a tree," she added, even more thoughtfully. 

"Upside down," she finished with complacency. 

The audience murmured. Bulma zoomed in with the camera. 

"Order, order," Piccolo called, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. He pounded the gavel. 

"...The subject seems amused..." Setsuna said, still scribbling. 

"Who wouldn't be?" Piccolo asked Setsuna. He abruptly grinned at her. 

"...Oh..." Setsuna said. She quickly looked back at her notebook. "Yes... I -- I suppose you're right..." 

*Wonder what's with her,* Perkin said. 

Suddenly, five men in business suits with pencils and notebooks in their hands came marching in. 

"Who're you?" Chichi demanded. 

"Bureau of Professional Pundits and Other Servers of the Mass Media, ma'am," a man in grey said, flashing a business card in her face. "Just the civic duty, just the civic duty. Now," he took a microphone and stuck it in her face as the four other men hastily set up lights, flashed pictures of all present, and looked over the whole assembly with expressions anywhere from mild annoyance to undisguised repulse. "Why would you hostage your own father? What have you to gain? What are your conditions? And where the hell did you get that Uzi?" 

"Perhaps her father mistreated her as a child," another man suggested. 

"Perhaps," the man in grey agreed. He turned back to Chichi. "What's your name? Your birth date? Your horoscope sign? Where you born in the year of the rat or am I just mistaking that expression on your face for smug guile?" 

One man was listening avidly to Vegeta, who was explaining the voice in his head. "It's... it's an elf, y'see? A demented elf!" 

"How fascinating!" the man exclaimed, scribbling rapidly. "Have you ever been institutionalized?" 

"What's that?" 

"Worse than I thought. My dear man, your life story should be documented. And you say you're a warrior?" 

"Oh, yeah." Vegeta sipped his beer. "I'm from a warrior race. Saiyans." 

"Ah! And where might this country be found?" 

"Not a country," Vegeta corrected the man. "A planet. Vegeta-sei. My name's Vegeta, too. I was prince, of the planet, and I was going to be king, but then the planet was destroyed. Recently I discovered it was caused by my former employer, Frieza. Needless to say," he added, "I was a bit upset." 

"Oh! Of course. How *captivating.* How utterly and completely nonsensical. I feel like I'm in a science fiction author's dream. Tell me about this Frieza." 

"Well, he was my employer. He paid me to conquer planets in his name. I planned to kill him, and I almost did. But..." 

"But?" 

"He killed me." 

The man paused from his note taking, just for one moment. "Did he, now?" 

"Yep. But Kakarott killed him." 

"Don't call me Kakarott!" Goku said, raising his voice slightly. 

"Kakarott?" 

"Also a Saiyan." Vegeta jerked his thumb at Goku. "He calls himself some ridiculous Earth name, but his *real* name is Kakarott." 

"It's not," Goku said. 

"Ah! I'll interview him later. But... you said you died." 

"Yes." 

"Er... are you still dead?" 

"Of course not, baka yaro! I was wished back to life." 

"By a genie? A djinn?" 

"Nope. A dragon." 

"Really! I'm amazed." 

"Well, you gather these seven balls, see. Dragonballs. And you-" 

"But about the hostage." 

"What about him?" 

"Why do you think that young woman chose him?" 

Vegeta shrugged and drank some more beer. "Even I don't know why she'd hostage her own father. Hell, that ain't normal, even for Chichi." 

"You know," Piccolo said, "I'm gonna regret saying this, but these guys make even that Pluto woman look good." 

Setsuna glared at him. "Why, thank you." 

"Wait a minute," Goku said, bewildered by the turn of events. "You're taking your own father *hostage?*" 

Chichi tossed her hair, a difficult task with the Uzi. "Well, why not?" she queried. "You got a problem with that, alien?" 

Ooohs and aaaahs were exchanged among the reporters. Vegeta spun around. 

"Yes, he's an alien," he said, "and I'm of the same extremely endangered race of super-strong warriors who transform during the full moon which now does not exist thanks to certain aliens from other races" -- he glared at Piccolo -- "and I couldn't transform in any case because I no longer have a tail. Is that enough for your tabloids, you briefcase-toting novelist-wannabes?" 

The pundits assured Vegeta that is was, indeed, enough. Vegeta snorted. 

"Reporters," he commented. He drained the rest of his beer. 

"Not reporters," a little man piped cheerfully. "Professional Pundits, pundits, pundits." 

Vegeta ignored him, intent on a voice in his head. He looked at his empty beer bottle, then tossed it to the ground. "Is that enough?" he asked. 

"Hey!" Krillan said. "Don't litter!" 

"Oh, shut up," Vegeta said. Paused. "I ONLY DRANK FORTY-THREE BEERS?!" 

*Actually,* Perkin snickered, *I lost track. It's actually forty-four.* 

"What about all that punch?" 

*Spiked with vodka,* Perkin said. *Doesn't count. Come now, only six more to go. You can handle that much, I hope?* 

"Y-yeah..." 

Chichi shoved the reporter away, walked past Vegeta, and pointed the Uzi in Goku's face. 

"Goku, honey," she said sweetly, "I'm going to have to kill you now." 

"*NANI?*" All exclaimed, five reporters and one sailor senshi scribbling furiously. 

"It's... it's just..." Chichi said, looking up at Goku with big eyes, "I just need a little space." Her voiced hardened. "Forever." 

"B-but Chichi," Goku flustered, "you -- you can't kill me!" 

Chichi put her hands on her hips and looked at Goku with an austere expression. "And just why not?" 

"Because you're my wife!" Goku said, as if it were the most obvious reason in the world. 

"And I suppose that means she has to wait on you!" Brenda yelled. 

Goku's face clouded. "N-no... nothing like that... it's just... she -- she promised... I promised..." 

"Pig!" Hyacinth shouted. "Enemy of women!" 

"Do it, Chichi!" Brenda yelled. "Be your own woman!" 

"Why?" Mags Mags asked innocently. Brenda and Hyacinth slowly turned to look at her. 

Chichi looked at him with distaste. "Your wife? What difference does that make? If I weren't your wife, I wouldn't go through the trouble of killing you." 

"But... why?" 

"You're always off to save the world, not even bothering to think about the people who care about you. Goku, what about me? I need you at home! You can't expect me to raise Gohan by myself. He needs his father!" 

"I didn't know..." 

"Too late," Chichi said. 

There were three bangs as she fired the Uzi at Goku's head. 

Through the smoke, you could see Goku, standing and plainly alive. "Look," he said, dropping three small bullets to the ground, "do try to be reasonable." 

Chichi looked, expression flat, at the Uzi in her hands. 

"You don't honestly think you can kill me," Goku said. There was another bang. With a chink another bullet joined the first three. 

Chichi's grip on the Uzi tightened. She fired at him again. 

Through the smoke, Goku obstinately persisted living. 

"Chichi, you can't kill-" 

"I will or die trying!" 

"Chichi," Goku said, almost whining, "I don't want this to happen! I lo-" 

He stopped, and turned. Everyone was watching them. The reporters were scribbling. Setsuna was scribbling. Bulma was recording, along with some cameraman from the local TV station. Piccolo was watching with obvious enjoyment. Vegeta was conversing with Perkin on the likelihood of Chichi killing herself by accident. Hyacinth and Brenda were watching with dreading anticipation, while Mags Mags was applying some lip-gloss. Tien and Chaotzu had just come to about five minutes ago, but were nevertheless terribly interested in what was going on. There was complete silence. 

Then Chichi spoke, voice sharp. "You what, Goku?" 

"Um..." Goku said, hand behind his head. He shifted his feet. "I... er, well... you see, I-" 

"That's what I thought." Chichi said. 

"Never," she added. "Never, ever. Not once in our marriage have you said it." 

"S-said what?" Goku asked. 

"That you love me." 

The feminists gasped, and the reporters exchanged oohs and aahs once more. The cameraman lit a cigarette. 

Chichi turned and shot at the cameraman. The cigarette was knocked from his hands. So was the top half of his finger. 

"You flinched," Chichi said. "If you hadn't, you wouldn't be bleeding. Sorry, I would appreciate it if you all wouldn't smoke. Okay? Okay." 

She turned back to Goku. "Now you see?" 

"What about *your* marriage?" the man in grey asked Bulma. 

"Eh?" Bulma asked. "I'm not married." 

"You live with someone, though," the man leered. "The guy who thinks he's an alien." 

"Which one?" Bulma asked. "I am afraid I know several men who fit that description. Take your pick: the green one, the drunk one, or the guy whose wife is trying to kill him?" 

"Um. The guy with the elf in his head." 

"That would be the drunk one. Yes, I do live with him." 

"What's it like?" 

"Living with Vegeta is... different. Four-letter words are not allowed at home." 

"Oh, really?" 

"So, Goku?" Chichi asked quietly. 

"Well," Goku said sulkily, "it's not like I was prepared for our marriage. You made me promise to marry you if I lived." 

"And you agreed." 

"Yeah, but I thought marriage was a food!" 

"You didn't break your promise, though." 

"Of course not!" Goku said, irked. "I never lie!" 

"A lover's quarrel?" the man in grey asked Bulma. 

"Do lover's quarrels usually involve Uzi's?" Bulma asked. 

"Good point." 

Chichi was about to snap something, but suddenly she stopped. "You... never lie?" 

"Of course not! Have I ever, ever lied to you?" 

"N-no..." Chichi said. She rubbed her temples distractedly. "Never..." She looked up. "Then... is that why you've never said it? Because it's not true?" 

"N-no! It's just..." 

"Say it," Chichi said, suddenly fierce. She lowered the Uzi and clutched her head with her free hand. "Say it. If you say it, I'll know it's true." 

"But..." Goku looked over their numerous audience. He began to perspire. 

*This is more interesting than a movie,* Perkin commented. *More sound effects, at any rate.* 

"All right," Goku said, looking down. "Chichi, I..." he hesitated. He looked over everyone around him, wiping his forehead. Closing his eyes, he said in a rush, "I love you." 

He lifted his head. "I mean, you're my *wife*," he said with a silly smile. "I gotta love you. That's what marriage is, right?" 

Chichi hesitated. "Five bullets left," she commented. "It's a waste." She threw it to the ground. 

"Well." Setsuna said. 

Chichi craned her neck up at the woman. "Oh, it's you," she remarked. "Finish your experiment yet?" 

Setsuna leaped out of the tree. "Almost." 

"What is with you and trees?" Vegeta said. 

"..." 

"Er," Goku said. "Sorry 'bout that, Chichi. I..." he paused, and clutched his stomach. 

"Goku?" Chichi asked worriedly. 

"I'm okay," Goku smiled feebly. "It's just... I don't think I like performing." 

"Performing!" WHACK! 

"Ouch! Why'd you hit me! That purse hurts!" 

"Ooh, you -- you jerk! Performing! We were talking!" 

"I know! But... in front of all those people..." 

"What *are* you, an actor? Would your answer be different if we were alone?" 

"No! I just have stage fright, sort of... I don't like people watching me so much." 

"Just you wait 'til we get home! I tell you, I'm not going to lift a finger all week!" 

"I'll work, I'll work! But there's no need in getting violent..." 

"Are you referring to my choice of weaponry?" Chichi said coldly. 

"No, I'm talking about the purse! What do you have in there, bricks?" 

"Yes!" Chichi shouted, removing, amazingly, a brick and throwing it at his head. "I pick up litter in the park!" She looked at one of Vegeta's empty beer bottles with distaste. "Most litter, anyway." 

"Bricks *hurt!*" 

"That's what the manager of K-Mart said!" 

"That's that," Piccolo said, throwing off the wig. "I'll be scratching my head all week." 

"W-wait!" Brenda cried. "Your verdict! Am I the female warrior or not?" 

"You know, Piccolo," Setsuna said, "she's right. You did make a promise." 

Piccolo looked at her. "But she's pathetic. She could never be the warrior." 

"Perhaps not," Brenda finally admitted. She paused, eyes glinting. "But... can I pick someone as my replacement?" 

"As long as she's reasonably strong," Piccolo said with a sigh. 

Brenda began to move toward Setsuna. "And how much time do I have?" she asked. 

"Well," Piccolo said, "I don't want to wait long, but I don't want to be unreasonable, either. How about three days? Bring me your replacement in three days, and if she's any good I won't kill you." 

Setsuna began to hastily back away, but Brenda was right next to her. "What about if I'm early?" 

"The earlier, the better." 

"Then, there's my replacement!" Brenda said, pointing at Setsuna. 

Piccolo smiled, but this wasn't exactly comforting, as it showed his fangs. "My my," he said, "you certainly work fast." 

"As you are the judge," Brenda continued, "she is under your care." 

Piccolo's smile vanished. "What?" 

"Your care," Brenda said, surprised. "Train her, make sure she isn't too far behind, check to see if she can be a decent sparring partner. That sort of thing." 

"Oh." Piccolo's face cleared. He looked Setsuna over critically. She was clutching her notebook tightly. "Well, she's all right," he said. "I don't think she needs my training." He headed toward the house. 

"What?" Setsuna asked, surprised. 

Piccolo turned around. "You're pretty strong, as women go, anyway. But damned annoying. I'm not going to kill you today, since the events turned out to be so amusing, but keep in mind next time you might not be so lucky." 

"Oh," Setsuna looked down. "Right." 

Brenda, Hyacinth and Mags Mags began to walk off. 

"Bye!" Mags Mags called, waving happily. 

"It's been real," Hyacinth said briefly, nose in a book. 

"I would do something about that short skirt, if I were you," Brenda called over her shoulder. Setsuna turned an indignant red. 

Piccolo started toward the house again, then paused as his foot hit the abandoned Uzi. "Five bullets left, she said?" he mused. 

"Huh?" Setsuna turned back a few pages in her notebook, looking over her notes. "Yeah. Five." 

"Hmm." 

There were five loud bangs. 

Through the smoke you could see the charred remains of four reporters. 

"Damn," Piccolo said. "I missed the last one. I never could get used to guns, even submachine ones. Makansapposo is so much simpler." 

--- 

Vegeta was unconscious. The man in grey, the one survivor of Piccolo's target practice, was trying to continue his interview with Bulma. 

"Four-letter words not allowed? Really!" he said, as if he couldn't get over the amazement of it all. 

"Yeah," Bulma said. She looked over Vegeta, and her face softened. Then it hardened again. 

"Dammit, Vegeta!" Bulma yelled. "You should know better! Forty-seven beers! You're lucky you didn't kill yourself and hey, I'm glad you're okay!" 

Vegeta's eyes snapped open. "Woman, can't you let a Saiyan sleep! I-" he stopped. "Hey," he said. "The voice is gone." 

"What, the elf?" Bulma said, handing him a senzu bean. "I suppose so. When you're drunk, you hear some pretty bizarre things." 

Vegeta relaxed slightly. "How many beers?" he asked. 

"Forty-seven! And that's not including the spiked punch." 

"Damn! Woman, lock the doors! That elf's gonna collect his due!" 

"Vegeta, shut up about the stupid elf!" 

"Look, he promised me money in some bizarre currency, but it seemed like a lot. He'd give it to me if I drank fifty beers. And if not..." He gulped. "Dammit, there were only three beers left!" 

Bulma had had it. "My ass!" she fumed, and marched into the house, slamming the door behind her. 

The man in grey watched this with a bemused expression. As Vegeta turned he raised his eyebrows at him. 

"That," Vegeta said with ruffled dignity, "was a THREE-letter word." 

"Right," the man said, scribbling. "This'll be interesting. Whatta scoop! Alien pulled around by the ear! Human mate the ruler of household!" 

Vegeta was obviously suffering from a severe hangover, because instead of destroying the reporter in three seconds it took four. 

--- 

Perkin prepared to claim his due. The next five years were going to be *such* fun... 

_Coming up next: Androids_

There now, do you all forgive me for being so late in posting? I hope so. 


End file.
